


Cross to Bear

by SubtextEquals



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubtextEquals/pseuds/SubtextEquals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Agron leaves Nasir and Spartacus to fight with Crixus, he buries his guilt under a pile of Roman corpses. But he still can't rid himself of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross to Bear

A day of marching had passed. Crixus had asked to speak with Agron when they were done. Neither of them held great affection for the other but after countless hours spent in counsel with Spartacus, they both knew each other and their capabilities. And, in the end, Agron had chosen to go with the Gaul over Spartacus… and Nasir.

Agron lay down on a blanket stretched out over the dirt. He wondered if the first night apart would be the hardest or if the ache in his chest would only worsen as time passed.

The battles should help during the day. They always had. Thrusting his sword through flesh, cracking a skull, kicking a body aside before turning to create the next corpse-- that was what he lived for. That was what he was meant to do. That was all that helped.

No, not all.

But Nasir was gone. Agron had made his choice and it was the right one for them both. They could have no life together beyond the Alps. Nasir deserved his chance at happiness. And Agron?

Agron deserved blood.

 

The Romans had signaled retreat too late. The rebel army tore into them, soldier by soldier, swarming over their ranks until nearly all lay dead or dying. Agron stepped over a corpse, kicking the helmet away from the head as he did so. There was no reaction so there was no doubt the man was dead.

Agron looked around for Nasir, realizing a moment later that he would not spot long, dark hair framing a smiling face.

He heard a gurgling sound and glanced down to see a Roman choking on his own blood. Agron lifted his shield and brought the edge down on the soldier’s neck again and again until head parted from body.

 

Agron walked away from Crixus’s tent. Together with Naevia, they had spent the past few hours talking about how to assault Arrius’s army and from there Rome.

Agron rubbed the back of his neck. He had a twinge in his shoulder. Even his body was protesting against the long onslaught that had lead them to the heart of Rome, but whenever he set foot on the battle field all pain fled, as did all other thoughts but the death of Romans.

He parted the opening to his tent, looked inside, and smiled.

“Nasir.”

The tent was lit far too well than it should be, even with the candles inside, and Agron could clearly see his lover, already slipping out of his tunic.

Agron stepped closer and Nasir moved to meet him, mirroring his grin before claiming his lips. Agron slid his hands over the man’s back. Nasir touched the straps of his armor, working to undo them.

But…

Agron pulled back. “This isn’t right.” Nasir shouldn’t be here.

“Do you not want to be with me?” Instead of teasing like always when they were like this, Nasir’s voice was sharp—a bitter accusation.

Agron took hold of his lover’s shoulders. “Nasir—”

Nasir turned his attention from Agron’s armor and looked directly into his eyes, anger burning in his own.

“I—”

Before Agron could finish, Nasir wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and pulled him into a hard kiss, then down onto the bed.

Armor fell away, melting from skin, and there was nothing between them. Nasir brought his legs up around Agron’s waist. Agron ground against him and felt his arousal building quickly. It had been too long.

Why had it been too long?

He drew back to plant kisses along Nasir’s neck.

“Do you not want to be with me?” Nasir echoed his earlier words with the same intensity.

“I do.” Agron looked up just as Nasir grabbed his face and jerked him back.

He had never seen as intense an expression of hatred on his lover’s face, not after trying to kill Spartacus, when Nasir felt he had nothing left to lose, not during battle against the Romans, and not during the few times when he spoke of his former dominus and forgot to keep the mask he wore as armor.

“You left me.” Nasir hissed.

In the next moment he was gone and Agron fell face forward onto the bed. It sent a jolt through his body that woke him from his dream. He lay on his side, arm extended around cold air. His cock ached but not as badly as his heart when he curled his fingers not around Nasir’s hair but around nothing.

 

For a brief moment, nothing had stood between them and Rome. And then Crassus’s army crashed into them in an unending wave. There were so many around Agron that one of soldiers got close enough to punch him. He had shortly returned the favor by running him through, then slicing the neck of another soldier who’d tried to outflank him.

For the first time, Agron was aware of the pains in his body. There was an ache in his side. His leg was cramping. But the rush was still strong and it saw him through, even if his movements were slower between enemies.

He saw Caesar thrust his sword through Brictius’s head. Rage welled inside of Agron. The traitor never should have lived. Agron had his sword to his throat in Sinuessa and the man had escaped and taken the city from them.

Agron swung his sword up and through a Roman soldier’s chest.

“Caesar!” He shouted.

The traitor started to meet him in combat but stopped and he looked past Agron. Agron looked behind him in time to see a horse charge him and a sword arc through the air. He didn’t even see who held it. All he felt was the initial flash of pain as the blade pierced his side, then the stabbing sensation that followed in sharp, fast pulses.

He looked down for a moment and pressed his hand to his side.

After surviving the Arena and countless battles, this was how it ended? On the steps of Rome, robbed of victory, with no one there by his side.

Duro was gone. He had pushed Nasir away. He had turned from Spartacus.

He was going to die. Just as he should have when Duro had pushed him aside at Batiatus’s villa.

Agron fell to his knees.

He was going to see Duro again. But he would never see Nasir…

Everything was going dark. He felt dizzy, faint, as the life drained from him and he collapsed onto the ground.

No, he had to keep fighting. He needed his sword. He needed to…

It was too late. He couldn’t turn back the days. He couldn’t take back his decision. All he could do was fall from this world.

 

Agron did not expect to wake on this world again but when he felt rough hands grasp him he realized that life had not released him yet, even if his body felt like that would have been a mercy. His entire side ached and sharp pains mingled with dull.

When he opened his eyes he saw a Roman soldier above him, pulling him by his arm. Agron tried to jerk away and reach for his sword but it was not there and he could barely move.

The Roman stopped and drew his sword. He pressed it to Agron’s throat and his lip curled into a sneer.

“This one’s alive.”

Agron braced himself and glared up at cold, blue eyes.

The soldier kicked his head and Agron was thrown back into a state of disorientation, where thoughts swirled in his mind but none settled long enough for him to grasp it.

His life didn’t end there. The soldiers wanted more information about Spartacus’s movements and plans. It didn’t matter how much time had passed since Agron had parted from him and, judging by the screams and beatings the other survivors of the battle were receiving, they didn’t discriminate based on rank. Not that Agron thought they even knew his importance. He didn’t tell the motherless whores anything more than to go shove their cocks up their asses. He’d received a punch to the face for that insult, one that had swollen his eye shut.

In the end, they’d left him tied to a pole, senseless and nearly blind with pain, but still breathing. He’d drifted in and out of consciousness, haunted by thoughts of battle and the friends and lover he’d left behind. Did they even know that Crixus had been defeated or were they still on their way to the Alps? Would they ever learn his fate?

Did it matter? Agron was surrounded by Romans and he was never getting out of this alive. But if they ever let down their guard, he would be ready.

That chance never came. Agron was finally face to face with Crassus and Caesar but he was powerless to do anything. That didn’t stop him from imagining it: breaking free, grabbing the sword from the soldier closest by, and severing all their heads.

That fantasy and the defiance that went along with it ended the moment nails pierced flesh. What he had feared in the moments leading up to it had not been death but pain. It was not as bad as he expected. It was worse.

Agron screamed.

And screamed.

When they raised the wood he was nailed to and placed it on the pole, the pain was no longer as fresh. It was still there, ever present and overwhelming, but there were no more cries from him. Instead he hung from the cross, limp and not moving save for the heavy breaths he took. It kept him from yelling until his voice went hoarse.

Agron had been mistaken before. He had not died while on the battlefield as he should have. He was going to lose his life now, strapped and nailed to a fucking cross, and he knew from having witnessed it before that it would not be a quick death. He would have hours to endure the pain and already he was contemplating what would happen after.

All he could look forward to, aside from an end to his hurt, was seeing his brother again. They would have much to talk about. Agron could tell him of his exploits, the friendships he’d forged and battles he’d fought, and of Nasir, whose life had become as interwoven with his as Duro’s had once been. Until Agron had left him.

Because he couldn’t bear the thought of Nasir dying in front of him, as Duro had. Because he couldn’t imagine a life without battle.

Because he’d been afraid.

The pain in his hands surged as his weight pulled him down. Agron winced, shutting his eyes tighter, and he sucked in a deep breath. His thoughts fled from him and all he could do was exist moment to moment.

He didn’t even notice the soldiers gathered around him until after the cross was dismantled. The jolt made him cry out before he ground his teeth in an effort to stay quiet. Then his feet were on the ground and he quickly collapsed under his own weight.

When the nails were pulled from his hands he screamed again.

He didn’t have the strength to curse as the soldiers hauled him up and shoved him toward a grouping of his fellow survivors.

One of the Romans spoke but it all sounded garbled to Agron’s ears.

“What is he saying?” He asked, not realizing he was talking in his native tongue.

“They’re sending us to back to Spartacus in exchange for a Roman cunt.” A fellow German replied.

Agron nodded. Then he passed out.

 

Everything hurt. His face, side, legs, hands— hands he would never use again. Whenever he attempted to move his fingers, pain shot up from somewhere around his palm but not the fingers themselves. They were deadened but sore and the lack of a sharp pain only made Agron’s heart heavier.

Caesar’s taunt was still fresh in his mind. _“An impressive feat for one who will never again grasp sword.”_

Agron was alive but useless. He would never kill another Roman. By trying to avoid a life without bloodshed he had only ensured that he would never again fight.

He marched back to Spartacus but what use was he to him now?

“Lean on me.” One of his fellow survivors offered, someone Agron didn’t recognize. He was bruised and battered as well but still willing to lend his strength.

Agron shook his head. “I can walk.”

That was one thing he could do. He yet lived, as so many did not. Crixus was dead. He did not know what became of Naevia.

Just as Nasir did not know what had happened to Agron. When he saw what had become of him, would he welcome him still?

Yes, Agron knew he would. He would welcome him because Agron would do the same. Even if they could never return to what they were. Even if Nasir and Castus may have…

From the pain that shot up his arm, Agron realized he had attempted to ball his hand into a fist. The aftershocks stopped any further thoughts.

 

Night had fallen and still Agron walked. He registered some commotion ahead of him, people talking and others brushed past him. Meanwhile, Agron could barely keep his head raised. It kept dropping and eventually he gave up on seeing anything past the ground directly in front of him.

“Agron.”

He knew that voice and when he lifted his head he saw a face he never thought he would behold again.

There was no smile on Spartacus’s face, not even a grim one as he stepped closer to Agron, stopping directly in front of him and grasping his shoulder.

“We thought you had left this world.” Spartacus’s gaze fell and his eyes landed on Agron’s bandaged hands.

“Not yet.” Though there had been times during the long march when Agron had prayed for such release.

Spartacus moved to Agrons’s side. “Place your arm on me.”

“I can—”

“No, you cannot.” Spartacus said calmly. He took hold of Agron’s forearm and lifted it onto his own shoulder. “Come.”

Spartacus slowly started walking again and Agron fell into step alongside him. This time he let his eyes fall shut and trusted in his friend and leader to guide him.

“Nasir?” He asked.

“Longs to see you.”

They exchanged no more words as they continued. Agron wanted to feel relief at finally having returned, with the promise of a long rest once he arrived at camp, but all he could feel were both sharp and dull pains.

He did not realize at first that Spartacus had stopped them both. But then his friend had grabbed his arm and stretched it carefully forward. It came to rest on someone else’s shoulder and, a second later, when a hand touched Agron’s cheek, he knew who it belonged to.

Agron opened his eyes and stared at a face he had seen many times in dreams and imaginings since the he had left. During their parting, Nasir had been nearly expressionless, watching Agron from a distance, words lingering in the air between them. Now he looked at Agron and his mask was gone. His lower lip trembled but still he attempted to smile.

For a long moment, the ache in Agron’s heart far outweighed any other pain. He had not cried during the beatings or his crucifixion but now he found himself holding back tears.

“The gods return you to my arms.” Nasir sounded, as he always did when they were together, comforting and soft, as if Agron were already being gathered into his arms.

Agron loved this man as if he were his own heart and it was only upon seeing him again that he finally felt it beat in his chest.

“I was fool to ever leave them.”

Agron swore he never would again.


End file.
